Remembering Ib
by Maggie 'Marauder' Weasley
Summary: When Garry returns from a visit to an art gallery, he knows something is wrong. He starts seeing things in his dreams & hearing voices in his head, as if someone is trying to tell him something he's forgotten, something important... He needs to remember soon, because Ib is in the Gallery, and hasn't even realized that she never left. (Based off Ib All Alone ending) Future Ib/Garry
1. Vaguely Familiar

_**A/N: **_**This is my third publicly shared FanFiction. (To read more about my first ****_attempts_**** at writing FanFics, see my bio...)**

And thank you to **Animorphs007** for introducing me to the world of Ib, and for reading through every single one of my fanfics I've ever written...she's been a big help!

**I recently discovered the RPG horror game called 'Ib', in which a nine-year old girl is drawn against her will into the demented gallery of Guertana, where she meets a lavender-haired stranger named Garry and where her life is connected to a delicate red rose. They take on the gallery together, fighting desperately to escape from the headless mannequins, Ladies in Color, creepy mannequin heads, and - in Garry's case - disturbing blue dolls that just won't leave him alone. And when they meet a young girl by the name of Mary, things get a little bit more twisted...**

**This is based off of the "Ib All Alone" ending, in which Garry gets out but Ib chooses to follow the fake mother instead. Will he remember before it's too late, or will Ib be trapped in the gallery forever? Hope you like it!**

**Running From Mary,**

_**~M.J.W.**_

_**Remembering Ib**_

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

_He beckoned her to follow him, but she turned away from the mural._

_"Ib! What's wrong? Come on!"_

_She ignored him, staring at something he couldn't see._

_"Ib! Hey, what are you doing?! Hurry up and come over!"_

_Her expression turned into a concerned frown as she turned to look at him._

_"Hey, it's not scary, okay? You'll be fine!"_

_She turned away again and he crouched at the edge of the mural._

_"Ib! I'll pull you over!"_

_She looked back and forth between him and whatever he couldn't see, conflicted._

_"Grab my hand!...IB!"_

_He could only watch as she turned and began walking away. The world around him was growing brighter, turning white._

_"...Huh? Wait...Where are you going?! Ib! Hey! IB! Ib..."_

* * *

**Chapter One – Vaguely Familiar**

* * *

In the corner of a quiet art gallery, near a large, life-like statue of a bright red rose, a young man with lavender hair and a long, stylishly-tattered coat blinked in confusion. He couldn't seem to remember what he had been doing...

"Excuse me?"

A woman's voice broke him from his stupor, and he turned to see a young couple - perhaps in their late twenties. The man was wearing an expensive-looking suit, his tawny hair neatly brushed and his brown eyes warm and kind. The woman wore an elegant dress in deep red, her long brown curls just as dark, almost black, and pinned up in the back. It was her eyes that caught the young man's attention - they were bright red.

He frowned, suddenly getting a strong feeling that he was forgetting something...something important. But the feeling was gone as soon as it had come. Shaking himself, he smiled at the couple.

"May I help you?" he asked.

"Yes, actually," the woman returned the smile. "We are looking for our daughter. She went off on her own about five minutes ago...perhaps you have seen her?"

The young man frowned, trying to remember.

"What does she look like?" he asked.

"Oh!" the woman opened her purse and began rifling through its contents. "I have a photograph of her...ah, here it is!" Her eyes lit up as she withdrew a small picture from the bag. She handed it over to the young man, who took it with gentle fingers.

the girl in the photograph was wearing a school uniform, with a white blouse and red pleated skirt with a red scarf tied around her neck. Her hair was waist-length and a rich chocolate color with thick bangs hanging just above her eyebrows. And her eyes - the young man once again had the strangest feeling that he was forgetting something important - were ruby-red, identical to her mother's.

"You know," he said thoughtfully, "I believe I did see her recently, upstairs in front of "_The Hanged Man_" painting."

The woman beamed at him.

"Thank you so very much," she said. "We will look there first."

"I'll keep my eyes open," the young man replied with a smile, turning to face the rose statue once again.

"Excuse me," the woman's husband spoke this time. "What is your name, son?"

"I'm Garry, sir," the young man said.

"Thank you, Garry." The man smiled gently and offered an arm to his wife, leading her back towards the Gallery lobby.

* * *

_**~ Garry ~**_

* * *

Garry gazed up at "_Embodiment of Spirit_" with bright blue eyes, feeling strangely sorrowful, and perhaps a bit nostalgic. Carefully sculpted petals littered the ground around the thorn-covered stem, looking as though they had been plucked and dropped there only moments ago. Why did the simple yet beautiful sculpture fill him with so much sadness? It was only a rose, after all...

Glancing down at his wristwatch, he let out a sigh as he realized he had been at the gallery for much longer than he had originally intended. He gave one last look at the sculpture before turning to leave. As he passed the bottom of the staircase to the second floor, he heard the woman's voice again.

"Have you seen a girl around here, about your age?"

There was a high-pitched, girlish giggle.

"Yes, actually, I have," said a second voice, this one much younger. "Follow me!"

Garry tensed at the girl's voice, but quickly shook it off. He pushed open the gallery doors and stepped out into the cool afternoon air, squinting slightly at the sudden sunlight, and was surprised to find himself filled with emotion - relief, perhaps? Or maybe a blissful happiness? He wasn't sure, nor was he sure why his emotions were so awry today.

The lavender-haired teen frowned and massaged his temples as a small headache started to form behind his eyes. He tried his best to ignore it as he walked out into the parking lot and stopped beside his parking space, pulling out the helmet, and swung his leg over the sleek black motorcycle. Grinning fondly, he put on the helmet and started the engine to head home for the night.

* * *

_**~ Garry ~**_

* * *

Garry closed the door behind him and dropped his keys and bike helmet on a nearby table. The smell of homemade spaghetti sauce led him to the kitchen, where his mother was busy making dinner. Her brown hair was pulled back into a bun, and she had a red floral-print apron tied around her waist to cover her outfit - a white long-sleeve blouse and knee-length blue skirt.

"Did you enjoy the art gallery?" she asked, glancing up from the stove for a moment.

"Yes, I did," Garry smiled. He strode across the kitchen and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, dipping a finger into the sauce as he did so. "Dinner looks great, by the way." He slipped from the room and dashed up the stairs, hoping she hadn't noticed -

"Don't think I didn't see that, young man," his mother called up after him. He chuckled lightly to himself as he licked the sauce off his finger and ducked into his room. Bookshelves lined the wall opposite his bed, organized first by genre, then by author, then alphabetical titles. A dresser stood against the wall behind him and to his right, just inside the door, with a full-length mirror beside it, and the wall across from him - Garry's favorite - was an art wall. If ever inspiration struck, he would find a blank area of wall and paint whatever his feelings created.

Not today, however. His headache had worsened since the gallery, and he was starting to feel a bit dizzy. He collapsed onto his bed and pressed his palms against his eyes, suddenly exhausted. This surprised him, seeing as he didn't recall doing anything that would make him this tired...

.

_He was running down a narrow hallway, and he could hear the sounds of the mob following closely behind him. He didn't dare look back, because if he did, he wouldn't be able to keep going. A door at the end of the hall loomed closer, and he pleaded silently to every God that was up there for it to be unlocked._

_A loud crash from somewhere behind him made him scream, and he stumbled, trying to catch his footing..._

_He was ten feet away now...seven...four...two...he reached for the handle─_

.

"Garry!"

Garry yelped and his eyes flew open as he sat bolt upright...

...and promptly fell off the bed. Wincing, he pushed himself off the floor.

"Garry, dinner's ready!" his father's voice called from the bottom of the stairs. He shook his head to stop the buzzing in his ears.

"Thank you," he replied distractedly, "I'll be down in a minute."

That..._dream_, or whatever it was...it seemed important. It gave off the same feeling he had gotten back at the gallery, when the woman had showed him the photograph of her daughter. What had it been about? He closed his eyes, trying to remember, but the harder he focussed on the dream, the further away it became. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep ahold of the vague flashes of images in his mind, and before he could even try to make sense of it, the dream was gone.

* * *

_**End of Chapter One**_

* * *

**_A/N:_**** Thank you so much for reading my first Ib FanFiction! Please leave a response! Critiques wanted...PLEASE tell me any and all opinions, good and bad! Flames will be used to torch the evil painting child...**

**Read my profile for extra information, and have a Marvelous Night!**

_**~M.J.W.**_

_****Cover Image Belongs To ~no-bunnies on DeviantArt_


	2. Talk of Rose Petals

_**A/N: **_**This is my third publicly shared FanFiction. (To read more about my first ****_attempts_**** at writing FanFics, see my bio...)**

And thank you to **Animorphs007** for introducing me to the world of Ib, and for reading through every single one of my fanfics I've ever written...she's been a big help!

.

**ERu - **I noticed that, too. I've always pictured Garry as being younger, and I feel he could only be as kind as he is if he had a family that taught him how to be that way. Plus, I've always felt bad for him in all those other fanfics...I wanted to make his home life seem happier!

**Dantalion - **Will do! ;D

**Chaos Aroura -** Yay! I'm glad you like it!

**HolyRomanGermany -** You're right, I've noticed that. It seems people often choose to write from the 'Forgotten Portrait' ending because it's easier to make an Ib/Garry pairing out of it. Trust me, it will be difficult if I choose to go in that direction later...what's your opinion on that?

Thanks to EVERYONE who wrote a review! This story has had the most views out of all three of my current stories, and I posted this one last! Needless to say, I've been pleasantly surprised by the response to _Remembering Ib_.

.

OH! And guess what?! **I got a Garry coat!** No joke...it wasn't intentional! My mother bought me a stylish black coat that just so HAPPENED to be styled much like our lavender-haired hero's...it's not torn up, but I still was reminded instantly of Garry. I promptly dressed in a green tank and brown pants, held up a rose, and had my little sister take a pic so I could send it to my friend Animorphs007 so she could see it. xD Hahaha...No, I will NOT be cosplaying as Garry. Sorry if that disappoints anyone...

**I recently discovered the RPG horror game called 'Ib', in which a nine-year old girl is drawn against her will into the demented gallery of Guertana, where she meets a lavender-haired stranger named Garry and where her life is connected to a delicate red rose. They take on the gallery together, fighting desperately to escape from the headless mannequins, Ladies in Color, creepy mannequin heads, and - in Garry's case - disturbing blue dolls that just won't leave him alone. And when they meet a young girl by the name of Mary, things get a little bit more twisted...**

**This is based off of the "Ib All Alone" ending, in which Garry gets out but Ib chooses to follow the fake mother instead. Will he remember before it's too late, or will Ib be trapped in the gallery forever? Hope you like it!**

**Picking Yellow Petals,**

_**~M.J.W.**_

_**Remembering Ib**_

* * *

**Chapter Two – Talk of Rose Petals**

* * *

Dinner was quieter than usual. Garry couldn't stop thinking about the strange things that had been happening since visiting the gallery. He had come to the conclusion that he was, indeed, forgetting something...something important. Something that linked everything together - the emotions, the headaches, the dream, the exhaustion, his sudden paranoia─

"Want to play a game?"

Garry looked up to see his parents flirting across the table. He smiled to himself - some things never changed.

"Alright," his father chuckled. His mother plucked a single red rose from the vase in the center of the table and rolled the stem between her fingers while his father drew out a cigarette and searched his pockets for a lighter.

Garry's jaw tensed and he gripped his fork tighter in his hand, the color draining from his face as an unexplainable fear flooded him.

_...The women here...like to play "Loves me, Loves me not"..._

He shook his head, wondering where he had heard those words before...

"What happens if I win?" his father asked with a teasing smile. His dirty-blond hair was hanging slightly in his eyes - brown - and he peered at his wife over rectangular wire-framed glasses. Garry's mother laughed behind her hand, her vibrant blue eyes - much like her son's - glinting with humour.

"Well, let's see..." she said, pretending to mull it over. "If you win, I'll let you pick what we do after dinner tonight. And if I win...it's my choice." She smiled slyly and straightened the blue skirt of her outfit.

"I can agree to that," her husband chuckled.

She held up the delicate rose and gripped a single velvet petal between her fingers.

"Loves me," she said, pulling the petal from the stalk.

Garry winced, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the rose. His heart pounded in his chest and his breath quickened.

"Loves me not...loves me...loves me not..."

Three more petals fluttered to the table beside the first one. His chest tightened painfully and desperation started to bubble up in his gut.

"...loves me...loves me not...loves me...loves me not..."

As more and more petals fell from the flower, a white-hot, blinding anger began to fill him, building slowly into a fury he didn't know he had. Then a corner of his brain, the part that could still think logically, screamed out in confusion that he had no idea where these emotions were coming from.

Garry's head throbbed painfully and he suddenly found himself on his feet, his chair forcibly pushed back from the table.

"I'm not feeling well," he said hurriedly, feeling flustered, and he felt rather than saw his parents' eyes on him. He left the room at a brisk walk and ran up the stairs to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

What was wrong with him? His emotions were in chaos, his behavior erratic. He ran a hand through his lavender hair as he paced, trying to make sense of the most recent development. Something about the red rose had triggered an inexplicable, strong emotional reaction...but why? He paused mid-step and frowned. A similar occurrence had taken place at the gallery, first while looking at "_Embodiment of Spirit_" and again later when he stepped outside. Mentally adding this to his growing list of oddities, he continued pacing.

On his fourth turn, he shoved his hands in his coat pockets and stopped again as his fingers brushed something unfamiliar. He drew it out and looked at what he held in his hand - a white lace handkerchief that looked to be stained with...was that blood?!

The color drained from his face and he clamped a hand over his mouth to stop himself from regurgitating the spaghetti dinner he had just eaten. Where in the world would he have gotten something like this? The image of a young girl with crimson eyes crossed his mind and he blinked in surprise. Where had he seen her before? Surely he would remember meeting her...wouldn't he?

Garry's gaze fell on the handkerchief again, and he caught sight of a small embroidery on one corner. He had to squint to make out the tiny white letters stitched into the lace:

"Ib"

The floor suddenly came up to meet him as his world went dark.

* * *

_**~ Garry ~**_

* * *

_"...Ah! I still haven't asked you your name. My, that was rude of me. Well, my name's Garry! And you are?"_

_"I'm Ib."_

_"Ib...Ib, you say. It's dangerous for a child to be all on their own...so I shall stick with you. Let's go, Ib!..."_

_. . ._

_"...Ib, would you take a look in the pocket of that coat?"_

_"...Hm? There's a piece of candy..."_

_"You can have that. Feel free to eat it. Let's rest here a while longer before we set out again..."_

_. . ._

_"...Ib, have you heard of milk puzzles?"_

_"I haven't."_

_"Well, as the name implies, it's a puzzle where all the pieces are white like milk. Since there's no picture on them, they're much harder than regular puzzles. Very smart people can finish them in no time at all, but...To be honest, they're not very exciting. Since they don't even make a picture in the end...It feels much more worth it to do a picture you like..."_

_. . ._

_"...Say, Ib...have you heard of macaroons? They're these pastries shaped like hamburgers. And just the other day, I had one at a __café, and it was sooo tasty! So, uh, if we get out of here, could we go there together?...No, wait. We WILL be going there! And we will get out! I promise!"_

* * *

_**~ Garry ~**_

* * *

_*Knock! Knock! Knock!*_

Garry groaned and shifted slightly, wincing at the sharp pain that pulsed through his head. What the hell just happened? He opened his eyes and found himself staring at his bedroom ceiling, where a midnight-blue fan rotated lazily above him. His legs were bent at an odd angle, and he felt his knees twice in protest as he stood up.

_*Knock! Knock! Knock!*_

"Garry?" his mother's voice came from the other side of his closed bedroom door. "Garry, dear? Are you alright?"

Garry sighed and stiffly limped across the room to open the door. He forced a pained smile and brushed his hair out of his eyes.

"Mum," he said tiredly, trying his best not to grimace at his pounding headache.

"Garry!" his mother said. He mouth curved into a concerned frown and her forehead was creased with worry. "Are you feeling alright? You left the table so quickly, that I-"

"I'm perfectly fine," Garry assured her. "Just tired. I have the slightest of headaches, but it's nothing a good night's sleep can't fix."

"You're certain?" his mother asked, putting a hand to his cheek. "You look a bit peaky. Are you sure I can't get you anything? Tea, soup..."

"Honestly, Mum, I'm alright," Garry said, shaking his head amusedly. "If I need anything, I'll shout for you."

"Alright," she said reluctantly. "Just...make sure you take your coat off before you fall asleep, alright?"

"Yes, Mum." He watched her leave before shutting the door with a soft click. He turned around and leaned back against the wood surface, sinking slowly to the ground and putting his head in his hands, taking deep, shaky breaths. Peeking out between his fingers, he saw the innocent-looking handkerchief lying in the middle of the floor where he had dropped it. There was definitely something not right about that handkerchief...

Using the door handle for support, Garry pulled himself up into a shaky standing position. He stepped closer to the blood-stained square of fabric on unstable legs and tentatively picked it up with the sleeve of his coat, shoving it quickly into the top drawer of his dresser. He let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding and crossed quickly to his box of paints by the art wall in an effort to relieve some of his stress. He set to work with a brush, the color flowing naturally from his hand, as he lost himself in his art.

_...You and the rose are unified. Know the weight of your own life..._

_...When the rose rots, so too will you rot away.._.

Garry shook his head, trying to get the voices out of his mind. What did that even mean, 'You and the rose are unified'? Where had he heard that before? As if in a trance, his brush dipped first into the green paint, then into blue.

_"...even down to these roses. Wounds appear on me when my rose loses its petals..."_

Red paint was added to the wall.

_"...Wooow, Ib's rose is reeed! My rose is yellooow! I like yellow, but I also like pink. Oh, and blue!..."_

Garry gritted his teeth, fighting desperately to block out the voices now echoing repeatedly in his mind. His eyes were unfocused as he painted, his head throbbing and his breath quickening with his heart rate.

_"...Hm? Mary, you dropped something. Huh...? This rose..."_

_"...Don't touch that!...Give it BACK!...Don't touch it! MY rose!..."_

The paintbrush dipped into the yellow paint, but it went unnoticed by Garry, who was straining with the effort of ignoring the noise that was building up in his mind, echoing and resounding and growing in volume.

_...You and the rose are unified..._

_...so too will you rot away..._

_"...down to these roses...loses its petals..."_

_"...Don't touch that!..."_

_"...Ib's rose is reeed!..."_

_...When the rose rots..._

_"...Give it BACK!..."_

_"...This rose..."_

_"...Oh, and blue!..."_

_"...Ib, you're holding onto your rose, right?..."_

_"...Don't touch it!..."_

_"...Make sure you don't lose it..."_

_"...My rose is yellooow!..."_

_...Know the weight of your own life..._

_"...And don't let anyone else have it..."_

_"...MY rose!..."_

"GAAAAHHH!"

Garry staggered back from the wall, clutching his head in agony. He tripped backwards over the corner of his bed and was sent sprawling across the floor, his long coat fanning out around him. His head spun as he blinked, trying to clear his vision, but the voices in his head had finally stopped. He still wasn't sure what it had all been about...

Electric blue eyes looked up at the wall and widened in shock. There, on the white backdrop, he had painted three roses. Two elegantly intertwined stems in a bright, vibrant green bloomed into beautiful blossoms of red and blue, while a third thorn-covered stem of a forest green color twisted tightly around the other two as if to strangle them, the yellow rose attached to it alight with dancing flames.

_'What the hell?'_

Garry stared at the newest addition to his art all, not sure what to make of it. To begin with, he didn't remember painting the roses, or at least not intentionally...and those voices...what had they been talking about? It was something about...roses...

His head was pounding as he struggled to remember why it all seemed eerily familiar. After a moment of silent thought, he sighed and pushed it from his mind. He desperately needed to figure out what was wrong with him, but perhaps he would feel better after he slept...he'd think over it again in the morning.

* * *

_**~ Ib ~**_

* * *

_In a dark grey room in an art gallery, a young girl with ruby eyes and chocolate hair sat on a white sofa with a vacant smile on her face. She hummed quietly to herself and stared blankly ahead of her, twirling the stem of a red rose between her fingers._

_ "Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?_  
_ With silver bells and cockle shells, and pretty roses all in a row..."_

_She swung her feet lazily and paid no mind to her surroundings when a single dry rose petal fluttered slowly to the ground from the weakening flower in her hands. A tinkling, girlish laugh echoed hauntingly around the room as a second girl's voice sang quietly:_

_ "One rose is blue, dilly, dilly, one rose is red._  
_ This time he can't come and save you...soon you'll be dead..."_

* * *

_**End of Chapter Two**_

* * *

**_A/N:_**** Thank you so much for reading my first Ib FanFiction! Please leave a response! Critiques wanted...PLEASE tell me any and all opinions, good and bad! Flames will be used to torch the evil painting child...**

**Read my profile for extra information, and have a Marvelous Night!**

_**~M.J.W.**_

_Cover Image Belongs To ~no-bunnies on DeviantArt_


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